


villains that live in my head

by plinys



Category: Daredevil (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Blood and Gore, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-02
Updated: 2015-11-02
Packaged: 2018-04-29 16:07:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5133881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You know, I’m pretty sure I have the right to an attorney.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	villains that live in my head

**Author's Note:**

  * For [springsoldier (ladydaredevil)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladydaredevil/gifts).



> I hope you enjoy this! I saw your comment about a serial killer au and just sort of ran with it, once the ball got rolling there seemed to be no stopping it!

Matt’s lucky he’s blind.

Well… Perhaps _lucky_ isn’t the best word.

“Mr. Nelson, I need you to tell me about your whereabouts on the evening of December 13th.”

It’s sort of like the perfect build in alibi.

Matt could probably go break into a fed building, and when he got caught he could just hold his hands up innocently say something like _oops “I’m blind, I didn’t see the no trespassing sign”_.

 “Or perhaps you could tell me where you were on November 27th?”

He gets the benefit of the doubt. And even if the cops don’t believe him, there would be a crowd of people, coming out of the wood work to shout about mistreatment of the disabled or something like that.

Protesters clamoring outside the police department.

“Look, buddy, we want to help you out. If you’re innocent, you could be walking out of here in minutes, but by not talking…”

They wouldn’t have even bothered arresting him.

There would have been no public show down, no cops standing outside his apartment building with guns trained on his head. Those vicious dogs of their yapping at his heels.

No being pushed onto the hood of a car just a bit too roughly, as his hands are locked behind his back, drawing the eyes of his far too nosy neighbors.

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life in behind bars?”

Foggy wasn’t nearly as lucky.

“You know,” Foggy says, speaking up for the first time since this _interrogation_ began. “I’m pretty sure I have the right to an attorney.”

\---

The whole thing started in law school.

A university assigned roommate, based on their likes for early mornings, coffee, and loud music, sharing an apartment that’s really two small for two grown men.

Three weeks into the first semester Foggy learns that there’s another like they matched up on, one the school’s automated matching system never took into account.

“It must be hard washing the blood stains out without being able to see.”

It’s freezing outside, and the drinking fountain he’s washing his hands off in isn’t helping much. The words slip out without him even thinking about it, and for a second he thinks that the girl currently stuffed under park bench isn’t going to be the only causality of the night.

Then unbidden in the silence of dark night comes a surprisingly warm laugh.

And he looks up just in time to see Matt, with his head tipped back, sightless eyes turned towards a dark sky.

It’s in that moment he realizes how deep he’s in.

There’s no going back now – though he supposes there never really was.

\---

He can see the looks on the police officer’s faces as he punches in the phone number, a _California_ zip code, called from a New York City precinct.

The phone rings twice before it’s picked up. Two more empty rings and he would have been shoved back into a cell without any hope of getting help any time soon, but somebody picks up, just before that final ring. A familiar female voice, “McDuffie, here.”

“I need to speak to Matt,” he says, without any preamble.

She doesn’t reply for a long moment, perhaps hearing the urgency in his voice. Though she doesn’t hand the phone off either. Foggy can hear her, breathing slowly into the phone, for a long sixty seconds.

“You’re in trouble,” she eventually asks, tired of waiting him out.

“Just a misunderstanding.”

It’s probably the biggest understatement of his life.

But she knows that.

After all, with Foggy here in New York, Matt had needed somebody else to pick up his slack, to make sure the blood came off his hands so that they looked clean under scrutiny.

“I’ll have him on the next plane in.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh and, Foggy.”

“Yes?”

“You didn’t tell them anything, did you?”

\---

“My mom wanted me to be a butcher, take over the family business and all. I’ll bet this isn’t exactly what she had in mind.”

Matt’s the one doing in this time, up to his elbows in some guy’s chest cavity. He’s got a way with his hands that Foggy is honestly a bit envious of. Time and time again he’s blown away how somebody that literally can’t see, can know just exactly where to cut and slice in order to remove a man’s heart.

It’s almost like he has super human abilities when it comes to killing.

Foggy’s not exactly sure when the best time to admit just how into that he is.

Probably not now in any case.

“My parents are dead,” Matt says, after a moments pause. There’s something about the way he says it, dark and low that sends a shiver up Foggy’s spine.

He almost wants to ask if Matt did it.

As if sensing the unspoken question Matt speaks up, simply saying, “I didn’t do it.”

Foggy had needed to hear those words, somewhere in the back of his head, he needed to know that Matt wasn’t completely gone, that there was a line drawn somewhere.

A line they would both stop at.

“You had me worried there for second,” Foggy admits.

The only reply he gets is a dismissive snort. “Really, _that’s_ what worried you.”

\---

He’s not exactly sure how long a flight across the country is supposed to be, but Matt seems ahead of schedule. That or his lack of human contact had made the passing of time speed up.

There’s a rush of relief, at the sight of the other man. Before Foggy feels finger tips on his pulse at his wrist as Matt asks, “They didn’t hurt you did they.”

His voice is dangerous and low, pitched so that only Foggy can hear, and he knows that tone of voice. It’s the one that speaks of no going back, if Foggy said yes now there would be no going back. Matt would tear down everyone who had dared to lay a hand on him in the past few hours, and he’d enjoy it.

They’d both enjoy it.

“I’m fine,” Foggy insists. “Tried and more than slightly annoyed, but fine.”

Instantly he can see the affect those words have on Matt. Watching as he pulls his hand back, uses it to listlessly straighten up his jacket before he asks the inevitable. “Promise me you didn’t tell them anything.”

Foggy’s heard those words before. Thousands of times.

It’s without hesitation that he replies, “You do remember that I passed the bar, right?”

\---

Nelson & Murdock had always meant to be a cover.

Technically they’d both gone to law school, both passed the bar, but he’d turned down offers from substantial law firms. The type of places that could have given him a six figure paycheck in a few years and for what?

For easy pickings. Finding people that won’t be missed, that could slip between the cracks of the world far too easily.

“What happens if we get caught,” Foggy asks, one late night, watching their latest client on the streets below rushing into a taxi for one last time.

“We won’t,” is all Matt has to say in return.

He says the words like a fucking promise, a promise that Foggy can’t help but believe.

\---

Matt’s back from his meeting with the police officers, and the first words off his mouth are, “They think you have a partner, an _accomplice_.”

He supposes saying _‘you have no idea’_ wouldn’t be entirely appropriate, not with the guard not so subtly listening in off to the side, so he bites his cheek and holds the smart reply inside.

“Let me guess, in exchange for confessing who my accomplice is they’re willing to cut me a deal. Reduced sentence? A slightly cushier cell?”

It’s Matt’s turn to shrug his time. The motion always looks awkward and unpracticed on him. “Something like that.”

In different circumstances it might have been a tempting proposal.

Or more specifically, had his partner been anyone other than Matt.

But this was Matt.

Matt who had always been there for him, who he trusted with his own life even though he’d seen the man the end lives of so many others.

It wasn’t even a question.

“I’m assuming,” Foggy says, his throat suddenly dry, “That you told them I had nothing to say on the matter.”

\---

 He's not overtly religious - not like Matt anyways, but as he sits there in the back of the pews waiting, he could almost say that he feels something. A nagging suspiscion in the back of his head and a bitter need to repent.

It makes his hands shake such that he has to shove them beneath his arm pits to quell the tremors. Only able to relax fully when Matt emerges from confession. His face seeming more pale and aged than it had before he’d stepped up there.  
  
"So that it, God going to forgive you for all that we’ve done," Foggy asks.  
  
There's an offered arm that his friend doesn't take. "I wasn't asking forgiveness for last night."  
  
"I'd imagine not," Foggy replies. "Even the priest would call the cops if he knew the truth - religious obligations aside – I can’t imagine…"  
  
Matts reply is a non-committal noise. One that has Foggy arching and eyebrow in reply before he remembers that Matt definitely won't have seen that.  
  
"Then what was it?"

“Don’t worry about it,” Matt replies. Forcing an awkward grin on his face, one that sends a shiver up Foggy’s spine. “I took care of everything.”

\---

“I have a plan,” Matt whispers into the crook of Foggy’s ear. “But you have to trust me.

The problem was, the plans Matt had never simple or easy, they were rash and unpredictable. They left people bleeding in the streets trying to hold themselves together, and Foggy didn’t want to be that person sitting in the alley with their innards spilt on the ground.

He shouldn’t find comfort in that.

But when Matt turns that devilish grin on him, he already knows his answer.

“I always trusted you.”

 

 


End file.
